Chafe R18
by FindingXXX
Summary: DomtaliaxGermany, Italy buys Germany a brand new present for being good all week  dom/sub relationship, R-18 yaoi


"Germany! I brought you something!" called Italy from the door. Without turning from the mirror where he was combing his hair, Germany sighed. If this was another pair of red boxers, he was going to-

"It's a very special present, just for you." This time Italy's voice was dark and low; Germany could practically _hear _the smirk in it, and straightened on instinct. He remained frozen even as the warmth of the smaller nation pressed into his back.

"You've been so good this week, saving fratello and I from France, buying me a cannoli, even abstaining all week long." Slender, tanned hands reached around his front, toyed with a button on his shirt before sliding lower, as his eyes slid shut. However, it wasn't until hot breath tickled his neck and ears that he hardened fully. His own Pavlovian response.

"You must've been so lonely, hmmm? So that's why I got you a present." Then those torturous fingers receded, and then something was pressing against his neck and when he opened his eyes, a leather collar was around his neck. It was of thick, rough leather, and so wide that he couldn't turn his head down properly without nearly impaling his throat on the oversize silver buckle. A thin but obviously sturdy chain disappeared around the back. He lovedit.

Italy watched him admire himself for a moment with glinting amber eyes, then looped a finger through the chain and dragged it in front of the blonde's face.

" Now, explain to me why this collar is special, different from the one you already have." Then Germany saw it, the way the chain was looped around itself, and he swallowed nervously, ice-blue eyes now wide.

"It has a choke chain." he murmured huskily, eyes watching the silver links glint and slide. "For when I'm bad, by pulling the chain the collar gets tighter, and I choke." he said, voice trembling just a little, the thought making him quiver in excitement. His correct answer was rewarded with a lick and nip on his ear, then Italy grabbed his chin and directed it side to side, studying the angles of light off the silver and shined leather with an artist's eye. Then an idea lit his eyes and he stood on tiptoes behind the larger man, so he could whisper in his lowest, silkiest voice.

"I'm going to give Germany an extra present, so he'll remember me, I don't ever want you to forget me." Quick as a flash he tore off the collar and sank his teeth into his lover's neck. He stayed there for a minute, biting and suckling, and _Oh, god, _the delicious, stinging friction was eliciting moans both harsh and smooth from Germany. Then he slid back, tongue flicking out to sever the thin line of saliva between the two, hands replacing the collar. Tightening it so the rough leather dug and chafed sensitized skin. Pressed into his bite, his claim. Germany wondered if he'd ever been this turned on in his entire life, his whole body shuddering with need.

But Italy, always the tease, had meant a whole week when he said it. So instead of relieving Germany, he slid the cold length of the chain, nearly three feet, down the back of his shirt, and pressed an invisible kiss to the collar.

"Well, have a nice day at work!" he called over his shoulder as he skipped for the door.  
>When Germany returned home, Italy was lying on the couch, flipping through channels in boredom. He was wearing a loose dress shirt and pants that tucked into his knee-high boots, of his favorite Italian leather, of course. When he saw Germany, his eyes lit up and he uncurled like a great cat, then slid over to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then he smiled brilliantly, and Germany wasn't sure if the darkly amused curl was in his lips or not. <p>

_Later_

"Yay, Germany's home! Did you miss me while you were at work? Did you think of me?" chirped Italy, words and face perfectly innocent.

God, had he been thinking about Italy all day. His bite and cock had been throbbing and burning all day, and by lunch a steady ache had set in both. By the end of the day his pants had become both tortuously tight and still not enough friction. The collar was just as damnable, rubbing the sensitive skin of his neck _raw _and forcing his chin up, as through to display it. Not to mention the silver chain that somehow managed to remain icy-cold as it dragged up and down his back with every movement.

Italy noticed his pained expression and looked sympathetic.

"Poor Germany, let me see."

Gloved hands reached for the collar and undid it, exposing the reddened bite. Italy stretched up, as though to get a closer look, and ended up with his mouth an inch away from the tortured flesh, hot, damp breath caressing it so gently the blonde nation's body went rigid. When a little tongue flickered out and laved the wound, rough on top and smooth on the bottom, Germany nearly lost it, hands clenching at his sides until his knuckles were white. Those slim digits replaced the collar and buckled it tight, then slid lower and lower.

As they gripped him through his pants, the blond's feet flew apart of their own volition, although if it was to keep his balance or allow Italy better reach, Germany wasn't sure. Italy's smile was definitely dark this time.

"Ooh, I'm so glad to see you liked your present, Germany, and I'm glad you were thinking about me, I was thinking about you too." he rubbed his own arousal against the taller nation's thigh like a cat in heat.

"Germany is always so good, too, wonderful and obedient. Walking the dogs, helping me make pasta, even shining my boots." Then he grinned as though a thought had just occurred to him. "Would Germany like to shine my boots now?" 

The taller nation nods, once, sharply. He allows Italy to lead him to the couch, and takes the boot proffered before him. At the first taste, it begins.

Oh, he had been wrapped in warm pleasure-pain before, but now a low burn set in his stomach, the kind you get from too much beer or chocolate. He can never tell if he loves it or hates it, but he accepts it as his tongue swipes at the leather. Methodical. He's bent before a master, the only master he can trust to hurt him just right. Over and under, the salty taste staining his tongue as it slides over the smooth material. He looks up and meets amber eyes, filled with lust and something he doesn't recognize, something that kicks the delicious, hated burn higher.

He finishes one boot and it's replaced with another, comes with a simple order.

"Clean, Germany."

He feels those same eyes watching him through a mask of fingers, making the control complete. Oh yes, Italy may be useless on the battlefield, but in the bedroom disobeying him comes with unpleasant consequences. He remains stoic and silent as he licks and sucks the leather, cleaning the stitching and pressing the seams. Italy chuckles at some private joke now, can never be without humor for too long.

When he's done, Italy removes the leg and motions for Germany to sit back. He appraises him for a second, then speaks again.

"Hmm, Germany, I want you to remove your shirt, then come put your face on my thigh. Be comfy, too."

Always good, Germany obeys. Undoes his cuffs first, then goes down his chest, neck to stomach. Tosses the shirt to the side, far off, knowing he won't be needing it. Then he leans in and rests his cheek on Italy's thigh. The slim man leans over him, grabs his wrists and the chain, fiddles for a second, then leans back. It takes the blond a thought or two before he realizes that not only is he cuffed, since he can't bend his arms, his neck and head must be pulled back so he can breathe. Admittedly, this is exciting.

Before him, his Italian lover unzips his pants, allowing the erection he's acquired it's freedom. It's plum red and drips pearly fluid from the tip, ever so gently. Then he fixes the man on the ground with a petulant expression, like a child that wants a toy.

"Germany, ahh, I want you to suck my cock as you are, without using your hands."

This causes a pause, as Germany considers the best way to do this. He just shuffles forward on his knees a little, then takes his Italian lover in. The collar and position make his mouth tiny, and he has to slide his tongue over his teeth roughly with each stroke. He revels in it, the weighty feel, heating his mouth, and the earthy, salty taste of precome that slides down his throat. It's a little soft yet a little wild, reminds him of wine and night air.

Now he really feels like he's had too much beer, because that feeling in his stomach is getting sweetly worse, and the room's taken a little lag to it because he can't breathe properly. Not to mention the fact that Italy is surprisingly well-endowed. Combine all these factors and he's gasping for oxygen that's hard to come by, breathing through his nose doesn't help.

It gives a new level to the domination he craves. Italy controls when he comes, how he moves, what he does, and now, when he breathes. He closes his now-rosy lips and moans at the thought, long and loud. His lover gasps and thrusts his hips forward involuntarily, then sets up a steady motion, in and out. Germany relaxes his jaw a little, a thin line of saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, tongue trying to draw forth and catch those precious salty droplets.

That feeling in the pit of his stomach is boiling now, he want something to drink, anything, then realizes he has a drink in front of him. All he has to do is coax it out.

So he begins to flicker his tongue across the head, teasing the slit, alternating gentle and rough. He can feel Italy swell at the base, getting thicker with unreleased semen. Then Germany decided to do something dangerous, because he was just that desperate.

He deep throated Italy and swallowed hard, once, twice and again. He was rewarded with a scream and hot cum painting his throat. He tried to drink as much of the creamy fluid as he could, loving the flavor and texture, but between the angle and the collar, he couldn't take it all. Germany had to pull his head back, allowing his face and neck to be drenched by the spurts of cum from Italy, who is moaning something that sounds like praises and his name slurred together in lust-soaked Italian.

When he was done, Italy looked at him and smiled a smoldering smile. Germany was twitching with need, face a scarlet red.

"Ooh, wow! I want to paint a picture of you like that. Cum on your face and neck, staining your pretty collar, hands tied behind you like a special present, cheeks red as tomatoes. Is there something I can give you for that? Something you want?"

"B-bitte Italy. Please let me come." he replied, shamed slightly by the obvious desperation in his voice, but too far gone to really care. Italy's smile got wider and he slid, ever-catlike, from the couch so he was kneeling next to Germany. Then he kissed him, wetly and passionately, letting their tongues tangle and mix sloppily. He moved to lap the cum off Germany's jaw, at the same time undoing his pants and fisting his erection.

Clever Italian fingers worked their magic on over-sensitized German flesh, and within five strokes, Italy was biting the junction of Germany's neck and shoulder, making a new mark, causing Germany to cry out something incoherent.

His vision was utterly white as the pleasure bordered on agony, holding him captive and forcing him to feel, making him yell in ecstasy. It gripped him and whipped him, carving out new levels of being reserved solely for this type of pleasure. He collapsed against Italy, spots dancing behind his eyes for a few moments. When he recovered, Italy sat him back up and tucked him back into his pants. With a huge, trademark Italy smile, he licked up the collected semen in his palm, amber eyes locked with ice blue.

"Alright, get comfortable, I'm going to go get my painting supplies."

Germany didn't know what to do or say, so he settled for nodding again as Italy bounced off. This type of painting sounded...erotic. 


End file.
